38
by AnonymoWriter
Summary: 38 times. No more.


'I'm done' he says. 'We're through' he says. 'I don't want you anymore' he says. 'You're worthless to me' he says. Too many times. I've been through too much with him. And I always take him back. He always bitterly tells me that we're through. And then two months later, he's crying and he wants me back. I love him too much to say no. But does he know that his time is running out? Because it is. I won't be here forever.

I woke up this morning and I knew. He'd been bitter for the past few days. I saw it coming. I saw his words coming. 'We're done. We're through. You're worthless to me.' Why do I keep letting him walk all over me? Every time, he does it. And every time, I let him. But if he breaks up with me, it's the last time. This is the last time. I don't want to tell him that. Because then he'll just be miserable until he breaks up with me. I'd rather him realize on his own that he actually needs me.

I'd rather not have to go through all of this over again. We have good times in the beginning, then we fight a few times, and then we make up and are happy for a good two months before he grows bitter. He locks everything up inside. He never tells me what's wrong. He never tells me what I'm doing that bugs him. So, I ask him, how do you expect me to change.

'I don't' he says. Then why break my heart every time, I ask. 'It's easier' he says. Maybe on him. But not on me. Maybe he still loves me. But I fell out of love years ago. I fell out of love after the third time this happened. So why do I let him walk all over me? I don't know. But I'm pretty sure I belong in a mental institution. I could check myself in, declaring that I'm pretty sure I either have multiple personalities or I'm schizophrenic. Or I may even just be unable to feel anymore.

Our fights are empty on my side. I argue, but I don't care. I don't feel any anger. I see that he does. And he fights. He fights until he's blue in the face. My expression never changes. I let him fight. I let him win. I let him make up with me. I let him fuck me. And all for what? I'm not bitter, I'm not happy, I'm not depressed, I'm not angry. I am nothing.

And he did this to me. I want to feel something. I want to be happy. I want to be angry. But I can't. I sit and I watch funny movies. I can't crack a smile. I don't understand why it's funny. Or maybe I do and I just don't find it worth my time to smile or to laugh.

I watch someone at the top of a building about to jump. My biggest concern is: What if they land on my car? I don't care that they are going to die. In fact, I wish I was up there with them, about to do it myself. It's not like anyone would stop me. Maybe he would. If he cared enough.

Sometimes I wonder if I should tell him he broke me. But I don't think it would do much good. I think he'd just laugh and tell me I was being overdramatic. Maybe I should visit a shrink. The shrink would ask 'How does that make you feel?' and I would respond 'It doesn't.' Would he give me crazy people pills that do nothing? Would he diagnose me legally insane? I'm not entirely sure.

I might be a sociopath. I really don't care if anyone lives or dies. I often pass by people in the street and think of ways they could die by my hands. I am uncaring. This is his fault. It started with him. It started with anger after the fourth time. I wondered how I could kill him. But I never went through with it. The anger dissipated, but my thoughts of homicide never did.

If I murdered someone, could I get off on the charge of being legally insane, I wonder? I probably could. Then I'd be put in a mental facility… where I belong. And he might visit me. Then again, probably not. He'd probably want nothing to do with me. I'd be just one less thing he has to think about. I wonder what he truly thinks of me. I wonder if I'm just a phase in his life that he decides when he wants to use me or not.

I sit on the couch as I wait for him to come home. I know he'll be drunk. It's hit this part of the relationship. I know he'll get angry at me for some reason. That's the only part that changes. The reason he breaks up with me. I wonder what it'll be this time. Will it be that I don't comfort him when he's sad? Will it be that the fucking isn't good enough? Will it be that I can't bring myself to cry with him? I'm not entirely sure.

But he walks in, as expected, and he sits down next to me. I smell the alcohol on his breath and I wonder what he mixed the vodka with. Was it diet coke? Or was it redbull? He seems more awake, so I'm going to go with the latter. He looks at me and I'm staring straight ahead. And he says something he's never said to me before.

'I'm sorry' he says. My mind starts working. I am trying to come up with a response. But all that escapes my lips is 'No you aren't.' And he seems appalled. But I really don't care. He uses his hand to turn my face to his and his eyes look angry, 'Yes I am' he says. If I still felt, I'm sure I would have found this funny. But I don't feel. So my face remains the same.

'You're not' I say. 'If you were sorry, this wouldn't be the 38th time we've done this' I say. He looks upset by my words. But I don't care. I get up from the couch and turn to him. 'If you break up with me again, this is it' I say. 'This is the last time' I say. 'You've broken me' I say. 'I feel nothing anymore and that's your fault. So if you leave' I say 'It's the end. So choose wisely. If you will be miserable with me, don't make an excuse. Just leave. I don't need you anymore. But if you think you'll be more miserable without me, then it's your job to put me back together' I say.

He stares at me before he stands. He laughs and shakes his head 'You're not broken' he says. I wonder if he is so selfish that he doesn't see past his own thick eyes of misconception. I wonder if he realizes how fucked up my brain has become. I crack a smile, the first one in years as I step toward him. 'No maybe I'm not. But you will be' the smile doesn't leave my face.

I walk into the kitchen and grab a knife. I come back to him and smile 'I've gone insane because of you. I have no feelings, I am uncaring. And this is because of you' I say. My voice is monotone. He looks scared. Good. 'You wear your heart on your sleeve' I say 'So maybe I should carve one into your arm so everyone knows it' I pause 'Or maybe I should carve out your heart so that everyone can see how dry and shriveled up it is. I can't decide which one I'd rather do' I move closer to him.

He backs up 'Woah, okay, put down the knife, Brendon' he says. He never uses my name. This is a first. And he only uses it in an attempt to calm me down. This won't work. 'Okay, I'll fix you. I'll make you feel again. I'll stay with you. I'll let out my feelings.'

'Will you be happy?' I say 'Because if you won't, I can carve a smile into your face so you will never not look happy ever again' and he looks terrified. I know this is sick. I know I'm sick.

'If I tell you what's wrong, will you be happy again?' he says.

'I don't know' I say.

'Maybe I can teach you how to feel again' he says 'I love you' he says.

And maybe that's all I needed to hear. I push him so he falls down onto the floor. I straddle his hips, the knife still in my hand 'If you could teach me how to feel, you'd have to change the way you are. And the only thing that can do that' I say 'is a life threatening experience' I say as I put my hand over his mouth. I see the fear in his eyes as I move the knife to his chest. I rip off his shirt and drag the knife down the center of his torso. He screams into my hand and I grin.

The crimson liquid spilling out of his chest is beautiful. I don't care that he's screaming. I don't care that he's in pain. The color and the liquid itself are beautiful. I cut him a little more just to see more of the gorgeous color fall down his pale skin. It's a mahogany of sorts that turns to a soft ruby color as it falls onto his white shirt. I make a pattern of slices in his skin before I set the knife down, smiling at my masterpiece.

I finally pull my hand away and look at him, a sick smile on my lips 'Have you learned your lesson?' I say 'I belong in a mental facility' I say 'You should take me to one before I kill you' I say, moving my blood covered hand into his brown hair, gripping it and holding his head back. I lean over to kiss his neck. He winces but I smile.

'Okay' he says 'I'll take you. Just let me go' he says. I pout and slide off of him 'You're no fun' I say. I get up and sit on the couch, swaying back and forth on it. I look over at him with a smile 'Come sit with me' I say. He hesitates. I can see the fear in his face. He doesn't want to disobey me, I can see that. He is afraid I'll kill him if he disobeys me. So he sits. I lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth. 'Thank you' I say.

After he packs my bag and we are in the car, he drives. He doesn't tell me where we're going, but I already know. When we get there, I look up at the big brick building and the same sick smile covers my lips. I look at him and then get out of the car. He comes over to me with my bag and takes my hand. He squeezes it and I'm pretty sure he's scared to death right now.

But he says he wants to fix me. I feel something for the first time in years. I am happy. And not because he wants to fix me. But because he promises that he'll be here for me. No matter what… and I'm not going to let him leave. Ever.


End file.
